Killer Queen

Chapter 4: Ginnylocks and the Three Blokes
Thursday was beginning to pass into Friday morning at Malfoy Manor, and Lucius Malfoy was still alive. He was, however, feeling quite exhausted.
Idly, he wondered how many legions of spotty young men it took to satisfy the lusts of this lioness, who lay thoughtfully in the bed beside him.
He was busy congratulating himself for a job well done with a celebratory smoke when Ginny fixed a look of intense concentration on him, as if she were having some kind of realisation.
An unpleasant realisation, knowing her.
“Can I have one of those, Luke?”
Malfoy looked down his nose at her, an expression of haughty indignation on his patrician features.
“Certainly not! I refuse to be the one to teach you any more bad habits.” He replied.
“Just one puff. C’mon, don’t be a cunt.” Ginny wheedled.
“Fine. One puff.”
Ginny took a puff on the cigarette, and began to cough and curse.
“That’s fucking disgusting! I can’t believe you pay to have that taste in your mouth!” she exclaimed, handing the cigarette back at him.
Malfoy, meanwhile, was laughing at her, and Ginny growled, menacingly.
“You’re not going to kill me over a little thing like that, are you?”
“I might. Hoity-toity toffee-nosed git.” She muttered.
Ginny rolled over and pulled up the blankets.
“You’re in an awful mood, tonight. Are we approaching that time of the month?”
“No.”
Ginny rolled back over.
“Actually, Luke, you might be enough of a rotter to help me. There’s this other bloke I’ve been going round with. Nothing serious, just trying to take your advice and all. Well he’s been getting all soppy on me and, as we’re, erm, involved in some other projects and I do have quite a bit of respect for him, as a wizard, I can’t just tell him to fuck off out of it. What should I do?” Ginny asked.
“Lie. Do you have a problem with lying?” Lord Malfoy replied.
“Not if it’s necessary.”
“Good. What you ought to do is think about something that has happened to you that his awful and horrendous, but doesn’t especially bother you anymore. Then, go and tell whoever it is that you can’t be with them any longer because you’re too troubled by this awful thing. Or, if that’s too unpleasant for you, just make something up. Those sentimental types will believe just about anything. Whatever you do, don’t tell him the truth, you’ll never get rid of him.” Malfoy suggested.
Ginny thought it over.
That seemed like an excellent idea.
“I’m glad I haven’t killed you, yet, Luke.”
“So am I.”
***
“Goddamnit, Ginny, you promised me you weren’t going to see that Slytherin bastard, again!”
Remus and his werewolf temper.
Ginny rolled her eyes.
“Come off it, Remus. I never promised you nothin’ of the kind.”
“You think I’m turning into a lovesick fool! That’s not it. You don’t understand what kind of man he is! He’ll seduce you into killing him just so he can die knowing he’s corrupted you, completely!”
The bored but yet sardonic look on Ginny’s face let Lupin know that his words were falling on deaf ears.
“I’m wasting me breath. It’s all just fucking to you, isn’t it?” he snapped.
“Pretty much.” Ginny agreed.
“So I might as well be Lucius bloody Malfoy! Or the third lad from the right wearing a Gryffindor scarf and a “Killer Queen” badge with a bulge in his trousers! It’s all the same to you!” Lupin elaborated.
“No. Not really. But it might as well be. Because things are just not quite right. I mean, they’re alright. Nothing wrong with the lads wearing the Killer Queen badges. Or their dads wearing the Killer Queen badges. And Malfoy’s not as bad as you might think he is. An’ I’ve got a lot of respect for you, Remus. I expect I ought not to ‘ave started in fencing with your pork sword, but sing as you go, I’ve done it now, haven’t I? Something just isn’t quite right, though. I can’t put me finger on it. Well, I’d rather somebody else put their finger on it. And if I wanted it to be some Quidditch groupie, I’d be off with him, wouldn’t I?”
Ginny realised her reply hadn’t made much sense, but she thought she’d gotten her point across.
“At least you know I’m not the right man for you. Or Malfoy. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m in love with another woman. A grown woman. As a matter of fact, I’m going to stop doing this. Right now. Your lesson is over, Miss Weasley, time for you to go back to Hogwarts.”
Ginny admired Remus for trying to be a decent sort of chap, but she had walked all the way from the school in a cold October rain, and she could have waited for a nicer day for an animagic lesson.
“Wot, in the rain? Can’t you grow a conscience on a sunny day, Remus?” Ginny squawked.
Lupin handed her an umbrella.
“I’ll ‘ave you next time. I’ll come ‘ere wif no knickers on, drop me wand and show yer a V for Victory.” Ginny threatened.
“Perhaps. But I don’t want you to miss curfew.”
***
“…and he frows me right out the bleedin’ door! Not even a kiss goodbye or a smack on the arse! Fucking sanctimony, that’s wot. I should stick with Slytherins. They don’t bullshit themselves wif a lot of that soppy bullshit.” Ginny explained to Hermione.
“No, they certainly don’t.” Hermione agreed.
Ginny just wasn’t herself, lately.
She had lost some of that cheerful outlaw joie de vivre that used to characterise her salacious tales of sex and ultraviolence. Now, a melancholy tone that was a far cry from the macha bravado of the recent past crept into her reminiscences.
That was what came of fucking about with the wrong men, men who filled your head with bullshit that you’d have to be a lot stupider than you could ever imagine yourself being to believe in it.
Hermione handed her the bag of crisps, and Ginny reached for a handful.
“I should have left well enough alone with Luke. Not that he’s any prize to take home to mother. He’s a cold-blooded, two-tone son of a bitch and a complete psycho, but he’s good for it and at least you can talk to the man. He’s not the soppy type, always going all fucking gooshy on you like a 4th year in love with Snape. No offence. But Remus, Merlin’s balls, if I knew he was going to go all squidgy on me I would have taken me business elsewhere. It’s too complicated for me. I can always bump Luke off, but, well, yunno?” she finished.
She noticed she had gotten chip grease on her Muggle Studies homework, and quickly scourgified the paper.
“Why don’t you spend more time with a bloke you really get on well with?” Hermione suggested.
“But that’s just it. Other than complete fucking strangers that I never have to speak to, other than to say, harder, a little bit to the left, and what the fuck’s wrong with you, that’s me arse’ole, I’ll turn your bollocks into a pair of earmuffs, Harry’s the only bloke I really get along well with.” Ginny replied.
“Well, there you go, then.”
“Wot d’you mean, there I go, then?”
“You can quit tempting Professor Lupin into the occasion of sin, go to Malfoy Manor on Thursdays, have the odd one-off with your Quidditch Pitch Johnnies, and go round with Harry the rest of the time.” Hermione clarified.
She could tell by the look on Ginny’s face she had never really thought of it.
“That’s fuckin’ ridiculous!” Ginny protested, loudly
“It was just a suggestion.” Hermione said, offhandedly.
They went back to work on their Arithmancy project, not saying much or paying much heed to the hours that ticked by.
Not until the long shadow of a dark creature crawled across the library table where they toiled.
“Do the two of you have any idea what time it is?”
It never ceased to amaze Ginny that Professor Snape could be as intimidating in an ancient rock t-shirt and an undead pair of black Levi’s as he could in his bat-like teaching robes.
To-day’s was a Deep Purple shirt which was probably only a bit younger than she and Hermione were.
“No, Professor.” Ginny replied.
“Really? I take it the recent twelve skull-rattling bongs from that ancient relic of a grandfather clock just a few feet away hasn’t tipped you off? I should take ten points from Gryffindor, five for each of you, but since you’re obviously studying, something most of the nimrods and yobboes in this place never do, I’ll be merciful. This time. Get yourself to Gryffindor Tower, Miss Weasley. Now.” Snape ordered.
Ginny and Hermione hastily began packing up their things, and as Ginny left, she didn’t make any comment about Snape only ordering her off to Gryffindor Tower.
“You’re such a rude bastard, Snape.” Hermione told him, once Ginny was gone.
“The rules are for everyone, Granger. You’ll be going off to your bed soon enough. Let me see that quill.”
Snape produced a scrap of parchment from his pocket and carefully wrote Hermione a hall pass explaining she was in the library working on an assignment in her capacity as his student assistant.
“Put that in your pocket.” He told her.
He did not have to tell her to get up on the table.
Snape looked over his shoulder and Hermione looked over both of hers.
“Is the coast clear, Granger?” the spymaster asked his protégé.
“Not a soul around, Snape.” She replied.
Hastily, Snape undid his flies and Hermione gathered him close with open arms.
And open legs.
As for there not being a soul around, Peeves was around, and he gathered up a stack of crumbly old parchments, just waiting for the right time to swoop down and drop them on the oblivious couple, but the Bloody Baron foiled his plans.
“You never let me have any fun!” Peeves complained, as the Baron dragged him away.
“Pervert.” The Baron accused.
***
Ginny still thought of Seeker as Harry’s rightful position, but once she was out on the Quidditch pitch, she honestly didn’t think of much.
Ginny lived for Quidditch matches. Cutting through the air laden with, shouts and cheers on her trusty Nimbus 2000, her heart alive with adrenaline thundering in her chest, weaving and dodging the futile attempts of the enemy to stop or slow her, the sounds of Bludgers thudding into muscle and splintering bones, the smells of blood, sweat, fear and victory, it was just as good as battle, except nobody got killed.
Well, almost nobody.
When the Bludger came smashing into her face at a rather high rate of speed, Ginny certainly felt like she was going to die.
In fact, she realised she must have passed out for a bit, because suddently it was quite dark, and then it was quite windy and she had a funny feeling in her stomach, because she was swan-diving towards the ground.
That was when she saw the Snitch.
The Killer Queen shook her head, spat a mouthful of blood and a few teeth over her shoulder and flew back up into play.
Several fluttering black and green blurs attempted to interrupt her drive towards the little golden ball; they were a minor annoyance to be flown around or simply through.
She lowered her head and thrust her shoulder forward, smashing through the black and green blurs in a chorus of grunts and curses.
One would not be chased away, she knew it would soon fly alongside her as she tore through the air, beginning to flatten her body over the broomstick, reaching for the little golden ball.
She could smell him before she saw him, there was a certain similarity in the smell of the son and the father, and she could hear his laboured gasps for breath as he closed in.
Her hand closed around the snitch an instant before Draco Malfoy’s hand closed around thin air.
“Which one of us has it, Draco?” Ginny asked.
Draco gave the witch an odd look.
Still, she had taken a Bludger to the face and one to the ribs, and she was flying with one hand on her broomstick and the other clutched against her side, with blood trickling out of her nose and mouth.
“You’ve got it.” He said.
For a moment, he almost admired her.
***
Ginny had to go to the infirmary before she hit the showers, where Madame Pomfrey fixed up her face and did what she could with her ribs; it was on the same side she’d been hurt before in Knockturn Alley.
She was still sore, and tired, and worse, benched from Quidditch practise all week.
Ginny stood under the shower for about a half-hour and she was falling asleep when someone snapped her bare arse, hard, with a wet towel.
“Harry, you fuck, get your arse out of the Women’s Locker Room!”
“Wake up, then! We’ve got some serious fucking partying to do!” Harry replied.
Ginny turned off the water.
“Get me a towel, will you?”
She didn’t ask Harry to turn around or avert his eyes as she got out of the showers and dried off, so he didn’t.
They were team-mates, after all, and best mates, and it wasn’t as if he’d never seen her naked or she’d never seen him naked. It never made her feel weird, getting close to Harry, or being naked with him, in the past. They went swimming together, they often slept in the same bed or in the same spot, passed out from exertion, or in Harry’s case, just drunk.
“What’s this? Is everyone’s favourite tomboy developing some tits and arse?” Harry joked.
“I’m 16. I’m a woman, now, what do you expect?” Ginny replied.
She started the long process of combing her hair, which fell to her knees, at least.
“Blimey, we’ll never get out of here.” Harry said.
He decided to help her.
Harry wasn’t too sure when he stopped thinking of Ginny as a little sister, or as his tomboy best mate. It had been a gradual sort of thing. As he stood behind her, combing out her hair, he realised that if he was going to get this turned on around Ginny he was going to have to stop horsing around with her, which was something he didn’t want to do.
Unless she didn’t mind him horsing around with her in a completely different way, which was something he did want to do.
A lot, actually.
“Harry! Don’t stand so close to me!”
“How else am I going to comb your hair?”
Ginny turned around.
“Harry, you’re my best friend in the world, and as my best friend in the world, I love you, dearly. Shagging isn’t something I normally do with people I give a shit about.” She explained.
“Me neither. I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be, though. I mean, you’re suppoed to do it with people you give a shit about.” Harry volunteered.
“I’ve never been all that good about supposed to be. You give me the comb, I’ll finish up in here, and then we can go celebrate with our friends. We’ll sort the rest out, later.” Ginny decided.
“Good idea.” Harry agreed.
***
The next night, Ginny sat in front of two pieces of parchment, with Pigwidgeon the owl hooting happily and zooming around her head.
They were both letters to her mother, but she was only going to send one of them.
All she usually talked about was school. But what else could she tell her mother about her life? Molly knew about the fights and duels at Hogwarts that Ginny occasionally got detention for, and her war-related duties, but Ginny could hardly tell her about putting the boot in with junkies, drunks, degenerates and Death Eaters in dive pubs in Knockturn Alley watching Harry’s back.
She always wanted to know if Ginny had a boyfriend. That’s why Ginny had invented the G-rated, Madmae Puddifoot’s tea shop romance with Harry.
What was she supposed to tell her? Ginny wasn’t about to tell her mother that she had stopped counting the numbers of her boyfriends, and that one star-struck face had melded into the next, by now. And she couldn’t tell anybody about her bizarre obsession with and vendetta against Luke Malfoy any more than she could even explain to herself why she was hotfooting it over to Malfoy Manor to burn up the sheets with him every Thursday instead of planting him six feet under the cold, cold ground.
Not to mention the occasional dalliance with Remus, who seem to have convinced himself he was laying cock to her for the greater good of her spiritual health and welfare, rather than because they were both a couple of randy shape-shifters with the smell of one another stuck in their noses..
Ginny looked over the first letter.
Dear Mum,
Things are beginning to look far less dire than they did at the beginning of the year. For one thing we won our last two Quidditch matches. I still think everybody was over-reacting, chucking Harry off the team for a little roughhousing with Draco. I like playing Seeker, but I miss playing with Harry. I’m completely recovered from that Bludger I took the side of me face, but the one I took to the ribs was in a spot where I’d just been hurt, so they won’t let me play this coming week.
Bastards.
Harry was quite a mean drink on Hell’s Horntail and St. George’s Dragon, but who wouldn’t be? On beer and stout he’s mellow and amiable. I sort of miss the excitement of not knowing what would happen next, and the generally sleazy atmosphere at the Horntail’s Nest in Knockturn Alley, but I don’t miss the broken bones and the terrible pain you get from fighting five or six full grown wizards. Besides, the Hog’s Head is plenty sleazy enough for me!
Also, I found out that Harry wasn’t just buying his coke and the occasional cap of smack from his contacts in the Alley; Draco peddles it here at school. I threatened to knock him around if he sells anything but weed to Harry, so, for now, I’ve got him off hard drugs and hard liquour. He seems to be doing a lot better and we still have a lot of fun together.
Harry’s my best friend in the world. He’s the only person I know who really understands me. If either he or I were the type to do the whole relationship trip, I’d be his old lady in a minute. Besides, he’s dead sexy. I wouldn’t mind shagging him right out of his socks; I’d put him through the wall.
Insofar as that goes, I’ve gone from shagging five or six blokes I don’t know in a week to just two that I do. And the occasional sampling of the local talent. I still haven’t got around to killing Luke Malfoy, and Remus says I shouldn’t. Remus Lupin, my ex-professor and eventual sponsor in the Knights of Albion, I mean. He says this is the worst possible time in my life for me to connect sexual pleasure with violent death. He’s probably right. I’ve been sleeping with him, as well, but it’s alright, I seduced him, not the other way round.
I feel kind of like Goldilocks in the Three Bears’ house. But Remus is too soft, and Luke is too hard, and neither one of them is just right. I like how Luke doesn’t bother himself or me with lots of romantic slosh, but he’s too standoffish. Remus and I have more fun together, but he’s getting on my nerves, sometimes, going on and on about how he’s in love with Tonks, and he shouldn’t be having an affair with me and how can he be in love with two beautiful women. He’s bullshitting himself into thinking he’s been wielding the old pork sword on me person to better my spiritual welfare. He’s got to be barking mad, pardon the pun.
Poor soul, he tries so hard to be noble and tell me too push off. I really ought to let him alone, he’s stupid in love with Tonks and I should get the fuck out of the way of whatever dance they’re doing. I don’t want to be the spare prick at the wedding, after all.
Generally, though, things are going well and I’m looking forward to the ball on Halloween. Harry and I are going to dress up as something together, but we don’t know what, yet.
Don’t worry about me, whatever happens, I can handle it.
Love
Ginny.

That was the letter Ginny wanted to send. She knew it would shock the shit out of her mother, but she really wanted some advice on what the fuck she should do with her life.
Then, there was the other letter.

Dear Mum,
Things are beginning to look far less dire than they did at the beginning of the year. For one thing we won our last two Quidditch matches. I still think everybody was over-reacting, chucking Harry off the team for a little roughhousing with Draco. I like playing Seeker, but I miss playing with Harry. I’m completely recovered from that Bludger I took to the back of the head, but the one I took to the ribs was in a spot where I’d just been hurt, so they won’t let me play this week. Rotters.
Harry and I are getting on well, as usual. He’s me best friend in the world. He’s the only person I know who really understands me.
I’m looking forward to the ball on Halloween. Harry and I are going to dress up as something together, but we don’t know what, yet. Love,
Ginny.
Which wouldn’t fool Molly for a second.
Ginny composed a third letter, and sent it off with Pig, for good or ill.
Dear Mum,
Things are beginning to look far less dire than they did at the beginning of the year. For one thing we won our last two Quidditch matches. I still think everybody was over-reacting, chucking Harry off the team for a little roughhousing with Draco. I like playing Seeker, but I miss playing with Harry. I’m completely recovered from that Bludger I took to the back of the head, but the one I took to the ribs was in a spot where I’d just been hurt, so they won’t let me play this week. Bastards.
I suppose you’ve heard some of the rumours floating around about me; I hope Dad hasn’t, as most of them are true. Some might say I’m a right baggage, and no better off than I ought to have been, and it’s a fair cop, but I feel like me whole life is turning to shit and I’m not sure what to do to fix it. It’s like Goldilocks, this one’s too hard and this one’s too soft and nobody is quite right.
I’ve been blagging you about Harry, which you probably already know, but what is true is that he’s me best friend in the whole world and the only person I know who really understands me. Perhaps I ought to throw my lot in with him. The likes of us were meant for one another, I suppose. Who else would have us?
Anyway, Harry and I don’t know what we want to be for Halloween this year, so if you have any suggestions about that, or any advice to give me, or if you just want to send me a Howler, I’ll be waiting for you to reply.
Love
Ginny
PS None of this bollocks had affected me studies, grades, animagus training or duties as a soldier in any way, and it’s not bloody likely to, either.

After Ginny finished owling her mother, she wished she hadn’t, but done was done and so she returned to the Gryffindor common room, looking for Hermione.
Hermione wasn’t there, however, and she wasn’t in the library, either.
Which meant she was probably in the dungeons with Professor Snape. They were either hard at work, or hard at it, or maybe watching that telly thing.
Muggle-borns and their telly. Snape worked Harry like a dog during his day detention, and his morning Occlumency training sessions, but he hardly complained about it to Ginny, because he got to watch telly during his night detentions.
Ginny liked the Muggle rock music Harry had introduced her to, and although she listened by Wizarding methods, she rather liked Harry’s records and CD’s. But the whole television thing left her cold. She didn’t see what all the fuss was about, but, then again, she supposed you had to grow up with the thing to love it so.
Still, it would be nice to have someplace to go and someone to go to in it. Ginny had no desire to hang around Malfoy Manor even had she been invited, and Remus was beginning to live up to his nickname of Moony, he was getting far too sloshy on her.
It was very late, almost the end of Harry’s night detention, and she decided to wait up for him.
Harry and Hermione both flooed into the empty Common Room around ten past two.
Hermione made a point of yawning and hurrying off to bed, leaving Harry and Ginny alone together.
Harry was surprised Ginny was there.
She had been spending a lot of time in a certain cottage with a certain werewolf, who after a lifetime of self-discipline, was allowing himself a bit of a holiday.
He wasn’t supposed to know about all that, but he did.
Harry had come by Professor Lupin’s retreat one evening, just to talk about some things, and as he passed the open window he saw something going on in the bedroom that he shouldn’t have seen.
He quietly closed the shutters and hurried away, but it was difficult for him to get the sound he’d heard Ginny making out of his mind. That low, melodious, purring sound. It made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck, not to mention the old Firebolt, stand on end.
Which only served to confirm a feeling that had been travelling around in his guts like a virus for quite some time.
After all, Ginny told her parents that they were dating; they were together so much that a lot of people assumed they were.
So, why shouldn’t they be?
He had done some thinking about it, and not just since the awkward moment in the locker room; it had all been on his mind for awhile.
Mostly while he was doing for Snape and Hermione in Snape’s lab. There was nothing conventional or ordinary or socially acceptable going on with them, and they seemed content enough. If Snape, that wicked old screw of a randy Scouser bastard and Hermione, the human computer, the everlasting know-it-all could make a go of whatever, why not him and Ginny.
Or maybe it was just because they were both from Liverpool, and Northerners do stick together.
As for him and Ginny, it wasn’t as if Harry would expect Ginny to make him the only rooster in the henhouse. He knew he was incapable of monogamy, himself. What he wanted was to be the Cock of the Walk. Ginny’s Number One Bloke, and she could be his Number One Bird.
What got Harry was thinking up some sort of suave and slick way to present it to her.
He couldn’t think of one, though, and so decided to fall back on the truth.
“So, how was night detention?”
“Beastly. When I got there, that slave-driving son of a bitch, Snape had Hermione working on some project. He was working on it, too, and there was no telly for anyone. He had me cleaning out cauldrons and scourgifying flasks and slaving just as hard as Hermione. They both seemed like it was terribly fucking urgent, but nobody told me why. At any rate, I’m so wound up I couldn’t sleep if I tried. Are you tired?” Harry asked.
“No. I can’t sleep, tonight. I just got done owling the semi-censored version of life at Hogwarts to me Mum. I should be getting a Howler in the morning. What do you have in mind, Harry?”
“How about a little ride into the woods? We’ll fly right the hell out of this fucking war and this lousy school. At least for a little while.”
Ginny smiled at Harry.
“Sounds like fun. I’ll go get me broomstick.” Ginny replied.